“Didn’t you hear me?” Rymark’s face flushed with anger. “I said we can’t hold. For the love of Aer, I’ve ordered the dead to be propped up on the wall to make it look as if we have more men than we do.”
Toria Deel spun to face him. “If I try to pull the information from his vault, I’ll destroy his mind in the process. He’ll die.”
“We cannot hold for another night,” Rymark said. “The attempt must be made or you doom us all to die here.”
Toria Deel thrust out her hand to point at me. “Hear me, King Rymark. Only Pellin knows how to cure a vault. The knowledge we require is inside it. If I break Dura’s vault we will die.”
“Fool man, you’ve brought us to our doom.” Ulrezia turned to her guards. “We’re leaving now, while it’s light. King Rymark, if we combine our forces we stand a better chance of fighting our way clear of the siege.”
“No!” I pleaded, reaching toward the queen. “If you leave we can’t call them.”
“A token,” Ulrezia demanded. “Show me some measure of proof that what you say is true.”
The kings and queens of the north—all six that held the gift of kings—looked at me, all of them wearing expressions of expectation, even Herregina and Erendella. Ulrezia’s demand had taken hold. “Form a circle,” I said. “Hold hands.”
Chapter 66
They joined together. Of all those assembled, only Cailin—standing behind Brod, where he held hands with Ellias and Herregina—gave me a nod of confidence. I searched my mind for some hint of the names Ealdor had buried there, but nothing came to me. Desperate, I retreated into the gift and entered my sanctuary. I needed time to think.
I replayed the memories of my life from almost eleven years ago, sifting through my memories as though I was delving another, but every time I saw myself going into the forest, they stopped at sunset, only to skip forward to the morning I walked out of the Darkwater.
I opened my eyes.
“Well, Lord Dura?” Ulrezia asked.
Please, Aer, I pleaded in the depths of my mind. Please let Ealdor come to me one more time. Give the kings and queens, your appointed rulers, something to believe in. I turned to face the Everwood and called. “Ealdor, please. Come to me one more time. Whatever is left of you, show it to us. Please.”
I waited, my imagination conjuring hope from each hint of movement at the edge of my vision, but each time I turned to it, it resolved into the shift of a guard or a queen or a king. I called again, but within seconds Ulrezia dropped her hands. “Well, King Rymark?” she asked.
Rymark turned to me, his expression unexpectedly beseeching. “Unless you can conjure some men or stratagem, Lord Dura, we must abandon Treflow.”
I shook my head. “You can’t win if you quit the field now, Your Majesty,” I said. “You know this.”
“I do.” He nodded. “When’s the best time to die, Lord Dura?”
“Later,” I sighed.
Toria Deel stepped through the remnant of the circle. “Give me every man or woman you can spare.”
Fess shouldered his way through the press to stand next to her. “There are too many, Toria Deel,” he said. “They’ll all die.”
She turned to him. “Then you decide, Fess. I will support whatever decision you make.”
I didn’t know what they were talking about, but it didn’t take a gift to see a long-running contest of wills in its final battle.
“And if I elect to fight alongside Lelwin and the rest?” he said.
Toria nodded, but I could see grief in her expression, even if I couldn’t understand it. “Then you must, but for selfish reasons I hope you will try to live.”
“With Wag then,” he said.
She stiffened, and I saw refusal in her expression before she conquered it. “Very well.” She turned to speak to Rymark and Ulrezia. “With the help of Lord Dura and Mirren, Fess and I can equip your men to fight in the dark nearly as well as those from the forest.”
Rymark’s face filled with doubt and fear. “What sorcery is this?”
An hour later I stood in the ruins of a cavernous building near the city wall with a thousand men and women wearing blindfolds against dim candlelight. Time after time, I released the memories of Lelwin’s alternate personality and tried not to be horrified at the change in the urchin I’d known.
“Clever,” I murmured to Bolt as I stepped outside of the building and flopped against the wall, grateful for the break. At Mirren’s suggestion, we worked in shifts with three of us moving among the soldiers while the fourth rested. It wasn’t as taxing as a full delve, but I was still sweating from the exertion.
“How so?” he asked.
I pointed. “Rymark knows what he’s about. There are dozens of men and women there on crutches who can’t fight, but with Lelwin’s memories and a bow on top of a building . . .”
“They can shoot in the dark and make the enemy pay.”
Time dragged by in a procession of delves interrupted at intervals by breaks where I talked with Bolt or Gael and worked at not saying what every man and woman inside the city knew. A half hour before sunset, Rymark approached, his steps quick.
“We have to go,” he said.
I pointed at the setting sun. “It’s still too bright.”
“It’s going to take time to get everyone into position. Cesla has scouts out there that have given him their unconditional allegiance.”
Bolt nodded. “You’ll have to take out as many of them as you can so they can’t see where your men are hiding.”
“That’s it,” Rymark said. “This sortie is going to be expensive, Dura. I hope this idea of yours works.”
I gestured my agreement, even though it hadn’t been my idea and he knew that. “Any word from Pellin?”
“No.” Rymark’s expression soured.
“What?” I asked.
“Cesla’s shifting men to the south of the city.” He disappeared into the building, and moments later, ranks of men and women exited wearing the heavy veils I’d come to associate with those who’d been poisoned by the forest. I suppressed a chill and waited. Lelwin came out followed by Fess, whose eyes were covered. Wag trotted by his side.
I called to him and he came to my side. Master! He thought in welcoming. We hunt.
Yes, but I have a special job for you.
Mistress has already given me one, Master. I picked up an image of Toria Deel, accompanied by her scent. I’m supposed to keep Fess and Lelwin alive. Should I not?
You should, I thought back. But do you remember the way Pellin smells?
Old master.
His scent came to me in more nuanced detail than I could have imagined. That’s him. If you smell him out there, I want you to bring him into the city.
Wag sat on his haunches with his head tilted to one side and I had to reach to maintain contact. Which is more important, Master—keeping Mistress’s pups safe or bringing old master to you?
Bringing old master to me, I thought. I couldn’t ignore the fact that I might have just condemned Fess and Lelwin to die. I wanted to be angry at myself or the Vigil. Anger felt powerful, but as often as I’d slipped into that defense, it wouldn’t come. I felt only the grim necessity of keeping the evil of the forest in check. If we failed, saving Fess or Lelwin or anyone else would be pointless.
I lifted my hand from Wag’s head and pulled him close for a hug that I couldn’t give to anyone else. Keep yourself safe, if you can.
He barked once, his tongue lolling out to one side, and turned to follow our last hope to the gates of the city. “I’ve become one of you at last,” I said softly.
I hadn’t counted on Bolt’s sense of hearing. “How so, Dura?”
He stood in the dying rays of the sun like a living statue, as absolute and unyielding in his sense of purpose as granite. “The lives of my friends are nothing more than ficheall pieces on the board,” I said.
“If you enjoyed it, you’d be the wrong man for the job,” Bolt said. “We should get bac
k to the counting house.”
“No. I need to see what’s happening.”
“Why?” Bolt asked. “You can’t do anything about it until Pellin gets here.”
When I didn’t answer, Bolt let out his breath in a long sigh. “Very well, but we’re going to do this on my terms.”
I blinked. “What would those be?”
“We’re going to stay as close to Rymark as his shadow,” he said. “If you want to know what’s happening, that’s the place to be, and if the king of Owmead falls, we’ve lost anyway.”
We found him talking with Toria Deel near the north wall of the city. Rymark held a pink scrying stone he used to communicate last details to Ellias. Toria held her own scrying stone, this one with a green cast. I could hear a voice coming from the stone, but I was too far away to make out the words.
Rymark nodded to me. “Lady Deel’s idea,” he said. “Her apprentice is far more useful to us as a scout. If he can stay hidden and tell us where Cesla’s men will be, we can shift men to the point of attack.”
The sun sank below the horizon, an inexorable death that cooled the air with its dying. I tried to ignore the symbolism. From the north and the south I heard a moan that built into a wail as thousands of voices cried in their damnation. We followed Rymark as he ascended ladders to the tallest roof on the northern wall. I looked out over the low parapet to darkness. No one had lit the watchfires.
I waited for my eyes to adjust, and after a moment I could see smudges of color shifting on the outer wall.
“Any injured soldier who can still draw a bow has been placed there,” Rymark said. “We’ll see how well Toria Deel’s hunters do.”
A door in my mind from the last war tried to open, and I forced it shut, strained with the effort to keep it closed. One of the memories escaped, and I relived the terror of being hopelessly outnumbered. Like Fess, Lelwin, and the rest. “Can they last until dawn?”
Rymark turned from his inspection of the wall to face me. “I don’t know if we can.” Something in my expression, some fear or resignation must have spurred him to continue. “The practice of war will always be an exercise in managed chaos, Lord Dura. I’ve seen great warriors die in their first battle, undone by circumstances they could never have anticipated, and I’ve seen fools live to old age after surviving countless battles and their own idiocy.”
The king’s diplomatic answer only served to confirm my fears. “How outnumbered are they?”
He shook his head. “At least ten to one.”
“They’re all going to die,” I whispered.
Rymark looked at me, a reminder one of his gifts was physical. “I heard you were a priest,” he said.
“Almost.”
“Then say a prayer or light a candle, Lord Dura. We’re not dead yet. Neither are they.”
Moments later Cesla’s men came pouring out of the fields in a wave, howling for blood, and there was no time for talking. Still favoring one leg, Bolt left to help man the wall. I moved to follow, but Gael and Rory closed ranks.
The hours passed in a series of attacks, each defended with the aid of Fess’s scouting and those who fought in the fields outside of Treflow. Untutored though I was, I understood the flow of battle. “It comes down to this,” I said.
Rory shook his head. “How can Rymark make sense of this?” he said, peering into the dark. “It’s just people running in to attack and retreating.”
“Cesla’s probing,” I said. “Rymark doesn’t have enough men to man the entire city. He’s counting on Fess to tell him where the next attack will be.”
Gael’s face blanched. “How long will it be before Cesla attacks from two directions at once?”
I’d been trying not to ask that question or even think it. “If he suspects Rymark is short on men, not long,” I said.
C
hapter 67
On the streets below us, men with torches came running from the west to climb ladders and man the wall. I edged closer to the king. “We’re halfway to dawn, Lord Dura,” he said. “Most of Lelwin’s men we put on the walls are down. We’re going to have to light the fires.”
He spoke into Toria Deel’s scrying stone, a warning for Fess and those beyond the wall. Then, at his signal, men on the parapet dropped torches. They spun and fluttered to land on piles of broken furniture and wood scavenged from the buildings in Treflow. Bluish flames licked at the naptha and oil and leapt across the dried wood. The area beyond the walls emerged from darkness accompanied by screams of frustration.
Hundreds of the cries changed into roars of pain, and grim satisfaction wreathed Rymark’s expression. He turned to me. “We may yet make it through the night.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I had Lelwin hide her men behind them, keeping them in reserve. When we lit the fires, his men were temporarily blinded.”
I looked east and west, hopeful. “Will it work again?”
“No,” Rymark said. “Not against any commander with sense, and if I was foolish enough to try I’d lose Lelwin and all the rest. We’ve put a dent in his forces on the north wall, and if Lelwin and her men are still alive, they’re going to be more than just a distraction for Cesla.”
Fess’s voice came from the stone, piercing the air. “We’ve lost Wag.”
The blood drained from Toria Deel’s face, and she wavered on her feet. “How?”
Fess’s voice reverberated through the crystal. “He ran off to the east side of the city.”
Unexpected hope took my breath, and I reached out to grab Rymark’s arm. “It’s Pellin. Wag’s found him. You have to get everyone you can to the east gate.”
He shook his head. “That’s exactly what we have to avoid. Cesla thinks he’s coming up from the south. We need to make sure he continues to think that.” Rymark spun away, snapping orders that sent men. “Have Fess get as many of Lelwin’s men around to the east as he can,” he told Toria Deel. “Have them stay hidden.”
“For how long?” she asked.
Rymark’s head jerked in a single nod. “He’ll know.”
I watched as the king pulled his scrying stone free and hailed Ellias. “Pull together any men you can spare by the south gate,” he said. “Have them mounted for a sortie.”
“How many?” Ellias asked.
Rymark paused to look at me. “You know Cesla’s mind as well as any here, Dura. Too few men and he’ll know it’s a feint. Too many and we’re throwing away lives we’ll need later.”
“Your Majesty,” I said. “I’m not a man of war. I don’t know.”
“Ellias,” Rymark called into the stone. “Use volunteers unless you’re short of two thousand. If needed, draw the rest by lot. Give them the best horses and have them ride in wedge formation as deep into the enemy as they can.”
“When do you want me to send them out?” Ellias asked.
“On my order,” Rymark said. He turned to Toria Deel. “The second Wag finds the Eldest, I want to know how far away they are.”
Silence descended on the rooftop, and I could hear the rush of my heartbeat in my ears. Bolt rejoined us, sweating and smelling of smoke. Rory handed him a waterskin, his words rushing over each other. “Is war always like this?” he asked.
Bolt gestured toward me. “Ask him. My fights have always been a bit more private.”
I checked the door in my mind that led to my memories of the last battle I’d been in. “Every man interprets the fighting and bloodshed in his own way, but if you’re referring to bursts of action followed by tense waiting, then the answer is yes. War is quiet dread followed by moments of abject terror. Even the winners are marked by it.”
Gael shook her head. “What’s taking them so long?”
Foolishly, I looked east, searching from some sign of Pellin in the darkness. “Wag can pick up a scent from miles away, but he’s trying to protect Fess and Lelwin as well. They can only travel as fast as she can.”
I waited there on the rooftop while my heartbeat rocked me
, looking east where the sun refused to rise. Bolt’s hands flexed over and over again, his right drifting across his body every few seconds to touch the hilt of his sword. Rory spun daggers through his fingers as he gazed into the darkness. Gael reached out and took my hand in hers.
“We have him.” Fess’s voice, quiet, broke the silence, and we exhaled in unison. “We’re about four miles out.” Tears coursed down Toria’s face as she held her stone aloft.
“Bring the Eldest to the east gate,” Rymark ordered. “We’re going to lure Cesla’s men to the south.” He pulled his scrying stone free. “Ellias, can you hear me?”
The king of Moorclaire’s voice answered in return. “I can.”
“Send them now,” Rymark said. “Have them push south until you signal them to retreat.”
We descended from the rooftop and moved to the east wall, where Rymark took command of the watch. Half an hour later, Fess’s voice came through Toria’s stone. “We’re within bowshot,” he said. “Open the gates.”
By the time I climbed down from the wall, Pellin and the rest were streaming inside. Wag came in last, a gash in his left shoulder. Blood spatters covered Lelwin, but oddly, she hadn’t redonned her veil against the dim light near the gate and I wondered which personality held ascendancy.
A dozen paces away, I saw Rymark speaking into his crystal.
“Ellias’s volunteers?” I asked.
The king shook his head, once. “Gone.”
I bowed my head to say the antidon, but Rymark’s voice cut across my prayer. “If you want to honor their memory, Dura, make sure we don’t join them.”
Pellin approached and took me by the arm. If a man could look more used up than the Eldest, I didn’t know how. “It’s time for us to take care of your vault,” he said.
I looked at Toria Deel and attempted a smile that probably didn’t take. “Congratulations, my lady,” I said. “I’m about to grant you your fondest wish.”
I’d hoped she would smile or respond in kind, but banter didn’t seem to be part of Elanian culture. “Not my fondest,” she said.
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